This is about my thousandth post today. It’s been a big week, sorry.
I wanted to clue you in on another ministry my team, as a whole, is doing.
New Tribes Mission put together this Creation to Christ series—a great storytelling kit that begins with God creating the world and goes all the way through the Bible to Christ. The idea is to use storytelling—a popular way of communicating information in cultures like ours—to set up a good, well-grounded foundation for a decision for Christ.
They’ve broke it up into a 40-week program, complete with a picture and story each week, which you can take to different levels of depth, depending on your audience.
Our plan is this. We will all do the same story each week, slowly making our way through the program. We want to saturate the community with one story a week.
We will all work to translate it and look for a way to incorporate it into our formal ministries or present it to a targeted group of people each week. So I’ll use it all week with my preschool kids and maybe work it into my English curriculum at the school. I’ll likely also use on one night to show the kids that come to play at our house. Cath will do that story at her kids’ Sunday school and with the young men and women she plans to work with during the rest of the week. Pastor will use it in his English/Lopit language classes. Joshua will probably use it at the Bible School. Jen and Craig will present it in their youth group. Heinrich will sit on the mongot with the Munimiji and tell them the same story. Doris will tell it to patients at the clinic, or the clinic workers. If I end up type-setting a newspaper after all, we’ll print the story in there. Everyone will be using it somehow.
And around here, stories like that don’t stop with the reader. We’ll be hitting the community from all different directions with one story, and they’ll be talking to one another about it. In that way, people will be talking about it, thinking about it and even spreading it. It will be the buzz each week.
And that’s the gameplan.Pray that we’ll get the materials from Nairobi quickly so we can start the weeks.
Pray for good translation and perseverance in that work, especially.
Pray that the church would join in the story-of-the-week push, too, and use it during the actual church service.
Pray for open ears and open hearts as we go through.
Pray that the continuity would lead to better understanding, better foundation for people who do end up choosing Christ.
We’re all really stoked about this. I hope you are, as well!
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Baby Andrea
The Lopit don’t name their babies for at least three days after their born. But the suspense over what Cecelia’s new baby’s name will be is over.
She named it “Un-drey-yew.”
Which, umm, is Lopit for the German pronunciation of Andrea (“un-drey-uh”).
Andrea.
That’s me.
I should tell you that if someone came here to Lopit and asked for “Andi,” you’d be given only blank stares, even if you spoke perfect Lopit. The Lopit don’t know me as Andi—largely only as Ibeja. Only a few know Andrea, and they rarely use it.
But, anyway, Cecelia and the ladies got a hold of Andrea, and the baby will heretofore be known as such.
Though I did confide to Cecelia that my mother calls me “Andi,” which she liked a lot, so we’ll see.
I went to visit yesterday and the little one is doing well. I held her for a while—she took the opportunity to pee on me. (All Lopit babies seem to enjoy doing that to the white girls.)
Cecelia took the opportunity to tell Idiongo (Andrea’s older sister) that I had come to take the baby home with me, that I was now the mother. And, in fact, I was going to take Oluwaha (her brother), Idiongo and Andrea with me back to Kenya, where I live. (Recall that the USA is actually in Kenya, according to Lopit logic.) And we’d all live there together. Idiongo was admittedly afraid, until Cecelia told her she’d go, too, and Iris would be there. Idiongo loves Iris, Cecelia tells me, because Iris gave her clothes and shoes. At that, Idiongo was read to hop on a plane—baby sister, big brother and all, and come live with me in the United States.
I hope Andrea grows up to be as funny as Cecelia is.
She named it “Un-drey-yew.”
Which, umm, is Lopit for the German pronunciation of Andrea (“un-drey-uh”).
Andrea.
That’s me.
I should tell you that if someone came here to Lopit and asked for “Andi,” you’d be given only blank stares, even if you spoke perfect Lopit. The Lopit don’t know me as Andi—largely only as Ibeja. Only a few know Andrea, and they rarely use it.
But, anyway, Cecelia and the ladies got a hold of Andrea, and the baby will heretofore be known as such.
Though I did confide to Cecelia that my mother calls me “Andi,” which she liked a lot, so we’ll see.
I went to visit yesterday and the little one is doing well. I held her for a while—she took the opportunity to pee on me. (All Lopit babies seem to enjoy doing that to the white girls.)
Cecelia took the opportunity to tell Idiongo (Andrea’s older sister) that I had come to take the baby home with me, that I was now the mother. And, in fact, I was going to take Oluwaha (her brother), Idiongo and Andrea with me back to Kenya, where I live. (Recall that the USA is actually in Kenya, according to Lopit logic.) And we’d all live there together. Idiongo was admittedly afraid, until Cecelia told her she’d go, too, and Iris would be there. Idiongo loves Iris, Cecelia tells me, because Iris gave her clothes and shoes. At that, Idiongo was read to hop on a plane—baby sister, big brother and all, and come live with me in the United States.
I hope Andrea grows up to be as funny as Cecelia is.
Tanked
Yesterday we had the joy of cleaning out our 3000L water tank.
I’ll let the pictures tell most of the story, but know it was very dirty and very gross.
Kimmie was the first to jump in. I followed soon after. But at least here you can see how awesome Kim thinks she is. We had to climb in on our rickety stick ladder thing, throw ourselves over the side (in dresses, mind you) and get sure footing on a slippery plastic chair, lest we fall into the murky, disgusting water. We’d drained as much as we could out of it—a hayday for the women of the community, as they all brought anything that could hold water and shouldered their way in to get what they could. We had to empty the tank even though it was about half full. We have a theory that something—or many things—died in there, because our water has smelled and tasted like death (or cabbage) for the last two months. We finally broke down and drained it.
We’ve been showering with, cooking with and drinking this water for the past eight months. So disgusting.
I’ll let the pictures tell most of the story, but know it was very dirty and very gross.
Kimmie was the first to jump in. I followed soon after. But at least here you can see how awesome Kim thinks she is. We had to climb in on our rickety stick ladder thing, throw ourselves over the side (in dresses, mind you) and get sure footing on a slippery plastic chair, lest we fall into the murky, disgusting water. We’d drained as much as we could out of it—a hayday for the women of the community, as they all brought anything that could hold water and shouldered their way in to get what they could. We had to empty the tank even though it was about half full. We have a theory that something—or many things—died in there, because our water has smelled and tasted like death (or cabbage) for the last two months. We finally broke down and drained it.
As you can see, it was quite nasty and quite smelly. We scrubbed and scrubbed as best we could. Every time we had to move our chairs, we had to step down into the ick. Problem was there were a couple of weird swimming animal/bug things that the women told us would bite us. So we prayed each time we stuck our legs in.
You can see a little bit of how that went, here. If you only knew how terrible it was to have to stop and pose like that, with our feet in that stuff.
Still scrubbing.
We’ve been showering with, cooking with and drinking this water for the past eight months. So disgusting.
Preschool update
I’ve decided to try to make this preschool thing a reality and I’m running as fast as I can after it, but hitting every pothole, as is the way in Africa. But I’m still really excited and finding more support from the church than I expected.
They gave me an old building to fix up, sitting on a big compound with a huge tree and room enough to put up some makeshift play things. Pastor G and Akili (the education guy) are arranging for a fence to be put up around it and sound like they’ll support me as I try to make things work. My teammate Daniel has come alongside me, the self-proclaimed preschool maintenance man (he’s pretty much the practical work guy on our team), and has said he’ll help me to do a lot of the physical labor stuff—fixing up the building, painting the walls and making jungle gym-esque stuff. He’s in Loki now with Steve, trying to clear stuff for that pesky fire engine and buying me paint if there is time.
Putting together a preschool out here—with limited resources and a surplus of kids—will be a challenge, so keep it in your prayers! It will likely be months before I actually get kids in the building, and even then it will only be a dozen or so, while I try to recruit Lopit women to help and establish a routine and see what works. My parents are coming in August, so I’m going to try to convince them to bring supplies from the good ol’ United States of America.
Some things to pray about for the school…
-That God would supply the Lopit labor and materials to build the fence, because not much can be done before that.
-That the church would continue to support the project like it is. (Praise God for that!)
-That I would find a good balance between beginning something with my resources and making that something renewable and able to be continued with the Lopit’s. (I really don’t want dependency, in money, supplies or the work, especially teaching.)
-That I would find a good contact here in Africa who has experience and know-how in the area of preschool—some organization or person that I can learn from and maybe get training materials from. (Finding such contacts is hard from the bush.)
-That the children and the community would be blessed by the project and they would come to know Christ as a result!
There you have it. Thanks a lot for the prayers
They gave me an old building to fix up, sitting on a big compound with a huge tree and room enough to put up some makeshift play things. Pastor G and Akili (the education guy) are arranging for a fence to be put up around it and sound like they’ll support me as I try to make things work. My teammate Daniel has come alongside me, the self-proclaimed preschool maintenance man (he’s pretty much the practical work guy on our team), and has said he’ll help me to do a lot of the physical labor stuff—fixing up the building, painting the walls and making jungle gym-esque stuff. He’s in Loki now with Steve, trying to clear stuff for that pesky fire engine and buying me paint if there is time.
Putting together a preschool out here—with limited resources and a surplus of kids—will be a challenge, so keep it in your prayers! It will likely be months before I actually get kids in the building, and even then it will only be a dozen or so, while I try to recruit Lopit women to help and establish a routine and see what works. My parents are coming in August, so I’m going to try to convince them to bring supplies from the good ol’ United States of America.
Some things to pray about for the school…
-That God would supply the Lopit labor and materials to build the fence, because not much can be done before that.
-That the church would continue to support the project like it is. (Praise God for that!)
-That I would find a good balance between beginning something with my resources and making that something renewable and able to be continued with the Lopit’s. (I really don’t want dependency, in money, supplies or the work, especially teaching.)
-That I would find a good contact here in Africa who has experience and know-how in the area of preschool—some organization or person that I can learn from and maybe get training materials from. (Finding such contacts is hard from the bush.)
-That the children and the community would be blessed by the project and they would come to know Christ as a result!
There you have it. Thanks a lot for the prayers
More at school…
The Lopit way to learn is this:
The teacher writes on the board.
The students mindlessly and slowly copy it all into unorganized, torn notebooks.
And I really don’t know what happens after that.
But the writing thing is a process to behold.
My boys get out straight-edges to make margins, draw rules and underline words.
On Tuesday, I made a squiggly line. They had no idea what to do with that. No idea. The strict, line-drawing concentration on every one of their little faces clouded into confusion and they fingered their rules and looked around at each other, absolutely befuddled.
I’m sorry, but I had to smirk a little.
We’re trying to get used to one another, you know. It will take some time. I expect them to be on time. They mosey in when they please. I introduced “lines” to their school discipline. The other teachers make them carrying down bamboo poles from the mountain, I guess. Said bamboo poles just sit in a pile; I’m not sure what plans they have for them. Anyway, the idea of writing the same thing over and over is not so appealing for them, so I hope to get them to class on time from now on. Only one kid was on time this morning. The other ten came in anywhere from 10 to 30 minutes after 8:30. I know they were out dancing and drinking last night, so my sympathy isn’t so great. But, then again, there is still technically no timetable, and the teachers all come when they please and the other children run around like crazy people. Ugh.
I try to have fun. They stare at me blankly. I try to start in Lopit, showing them verbs and nouns, and bring that over into the English sentence structure we’re supposed to be learning. Their eyes glaze over. I ask them to shout out word as they think of them. They tense up, unaccustomed to spontaneity as part of the class.
But today I did have a little breakthrough, so that was good. We played a game and they got into it and didn’t want to stop. They might have even learned a little something.
Excellent.
It’s been a long first week of teaching, as we’ve had to take our routines and smash them into a million pieces. We’ve been exhausted every night, but somehow blessed by the work. Our friends have wondered some if we’ve died—they’re upset we haven’t come to play!—but we’ll strike a balance soon and get in the flow of things, I’m sure. Just pray for us. Teaching, plus the formal ministries we’re starting, plus the intense curriculum and the heat and practical everyday stuff like cooking and cleaning, etc., plus some strange happenings in the village, plus carrying our weight to carry the team, plus building and maintaining relationships with the people…. all that—preceded by and flowing from trying to run the Christian race ourselves, lest we be disqualified—has burn-out written all over it. But TIMO is as TIMO does, and we’re confident our labor will bear fruit!
The teacher writes on the board.
The students mindlessly and slowly copy it all into unorganized, torn notebooks.
And I really don’t know what happens after that.
But the writing thing is a process to behold.
My boys get out straight-edges to make margins, draw rules and underline words.
On Tuesday, I made a squiggly line. They had no idea what to do with that. No idea. The strict, line-drawing concentration on every one of their little faces clouded into confusion and they fingered their rules and looked around at each other, absolutely befuddled.
I’m sorry, but I had to smirk a little.
We’re trying to get used to one another, you know. It will take some time. I expect them to be on time. They mosey in when they please. I introduced “lines” to their school discipline. The other teachers make them carrying down bamboo poles from the mountain, I guess. Said bamboo poles just sit in a pile; I’m not sure what plans they have for them. Anyway, the idea of writing the same thing over and over is not so appealing for them, so I hope to get them to class on time from now on. Only one kid was on time this morning. The other ten came in anywhere from 10 to 30 minutes after 8:30. I know they were out dancing and drinking last night, so my sympathy isn’t so great. But, then again, there is still technically no timetable, and the teachers all come when they please and the other children run around like crazy people. Ugh.
I try to have fun. They stare at me blankly. I try to start in Lopit, showing them verbs and nouns, and bring that over into the English sentence structure we’re supposed to be learning. Their eyes glaze over. I ask them to shout out word as they think of them. They tense up, unaccustomed to spontaneity as part of the class.
But today I did have a little breakthrough, so that was good. We played a game and they got into it and didn’t want to stop. They might have even learned a little something.
Excellent.
It’s been a long first week of teaching, as we’ve had to take our routines and smash them into a million pieces. We’ve been exhausted every night, but somehow blessed by the work. Our friends have wondered some if we’ve died—they’re upset we haven’t come to play!—but we’ll strike a balance soon and get in the flow of things, I’m sure. Just pray for us. Teaching, plus the formal ministries we’re starting, plus the intense curriculum and the heat and practical everyday stuff like cooking and cleaning, etc., plus some strange happenings in the village, plus carrying our weight to carry the team, plus building and maintaining relationships with the people…. all that—preceded by and flowing from trying to run the Christian race ourselves, lest we be disqualified—has burn-out written all over it. But TIMO is as TIMO does, and we’re confident our labor will bear fruit!
Good Moooooorning
Well, that was sufficiently weird. A cow just woke me up.
I’ve taken to sleeping outside these days. I grew tired of waking up in the middle of the night covered in sweat and laying on wet sheets.
It’s hot, hot, hot here, and it doesn’t stop being so just because the sun is down. We all got these dinky little 12-volt fans in Nairobi in October and had them set up by December, but they’re junk and mine fried just as we got back from vacation—at the hottest point of our stay here thus far. No one has had much luck. Pattie’s makes a terrible, terrible noise. So much so that for a while the children, when Pattie laid down midday to take a nap or read, mistook it as a plane coming and would rush to our yard to warn us. And Abuba hates the thing. At first she took to imitating the whirling sound and would tell us she couldn’t sleep because of it. Which is funny, you know, because of the intense drumming that pumps through the night air. And the shrill screaming that cuts through any sort of pleasant evening stillness. And the crying children. Etc., etc. Anyway, the fans were a bust and my room doesn’t have any windows that welcome the blow of the night wind, so I dragged my mattress outside in the middle the night the other day and haven’t looked back since. Kim swears I’m going to get stung by a scorpion and I have a growing fear of waking up with a puff adder on my chest (Steve tells a story about how his army buddy woke up with one of the uber-poisonous snakes on his chest), but this new concept of sleeping through the night—and that, rather comfortably—is too irresistible.
Anyway, I slept in a little bit this morning, so around six, I heard someone coming up into the yard. But when I put on my glasses, I realized it wasn’t a person at all, it was a cow, close to hovering over me. We kind of stared at each other for a while, quite aware that the other was out of place, before I threw on my flips and chased it around the yard, trying to gently urge it to the door.
Never a dull moment—or morning—here in Lopit.
I’ve taken to sleeping outside these days. I grew tired of waking up in the middle of the night covered in sweat and laying on wet sheets.
It’s hot, hot, hot here, and it doesn’t stop being so just because the sun is down. We all got these dinky little 12-volt fans in Nairobi in October and had them set up by December, but they’re junk and mine fried just as we got back from vacation—at the hottest point of our stay here thus far. No one has had much luck. Pattie’s makes a terrible, terrible noise. So much so that for a while the children, when Pattie laid down midday to take a nap or read, mistook it as a plane coming and would rush to our yard to warn us. And Abuba hates the thing. At first she took to imitating the whirling sound and would tell us she couldn’t sleep because of it. Which is funny, you know, because of the intense drumming that pumps through the night air. And the shrill screaming that cuts through any sort of pleasant evening stillness. And the crying children. Etc., etc. Anyway, the fans were a bust and my room doesn’t have any windows that welcome the blow of the night wind, so I dragged my mattress outside in the middle the night the other day and haven’t looked back since. Kim swears I’m going to get stung by a scorpion and I have a growing fear of waking up with a puff adder on my chest (Steve tells a story about how his army buddy woke up with one of the uber-poisonous snakes on his chest), but this new concept of sleeping through the night—and that, rather comfortably—is too irresistible.
Anyway, I slept in a little bit this morning, so around six, I heard someone coming up into the yard. But when I put on my glasses, I realized it wasn’t a person at all, it was a cow, close to hovering over me. We kind of stared at each other for a while, quite aware that the other was out of place, before I threw on my flips and chased it around the yard, trying to gently urge it to the door.
Never a dull moment—or morning—here in Lopit.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Prayer for travel (still)
Martin messaged that he was finally on his way back with the fire engine. Please pray for his coming. The roads have gotten more dangerous and the border is a mess, so the stakes are higher. Steve is flying out to help him come back in.
Don’t freak out, though. We’re safe where we are.
Don’t freak out, though. We’re safe where we are.
School Daze
I decided I’d offer my services to the school while I’m waiting to get my other formal ministry ideas in order.
I think this is going to be a much harder time-filler than I ever imagined.
The school is so unorganized. They have no books. The kids don’t have pencils and notebooks. They have no teachers. There is no standardized testing—they pull from the Kenyan and Ugandan curriculums, if they pull from any curriculum at all. The schoolmaster is always drunk. Today he was tending his cows, not at school. This is a regular occurrence. They don’t have a timetable for classes yet. They’ve been “in session” for nearly two months. We had to pull teeth to see what they needed, had to kick and scream to try to get books to teach from… and eventually just showed up this morning, saw that there were kids in the different classrooms and jumped in and tried to teach. I picked P6 English. Today we tried to establish rules and talked about what respect was. The kids just stared blankly at me. No response. Nothing. Even when I spoke Lopit. It’s going to be a hard go of things!
After I dismissed my class (rather awkwardly), I walked over to the other school buildings. They’re actually not much like buildings. They used to be just shelled out brick things, then some DIGUNA guys came and put tin roofs on. Then the UN came while we were gone and detonated an old bomb that’s been sitting there… forever… and the whole place shook like there was an earthquake and some of the tin roofing came loose. Whoops. They’re coming to detonate another one soon, I hear. Can’t wait for that!
Inside it’s just piles of rocks and old split boards to sit on. No desks. It’s OK, though… no notebooks anyway.
(I’m not trying to whine, just trying to convey the sad reality. This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I have to work hard not to go crazy in the face of Sudanese school.)
The buildings are teeming with children, sort of like an ant farm.
I walk into the first room. Filled with young children. (Many of them preschool age.)
“Tau Teacher nohoi?” (“Where is your teacher?)
“Obe nobo.” (There is none.)
The next. More children.
“Tau Teacher nohoi?”
“Obe nobo.”
And the last. Even more children.
“Tau Teacher nohoi?”
“Obe nobo.”
At least I established that there was a need for teachers. And a preschool teacher, at that.
And after that terrible experience came a wonderful one.
Kimmie and I walked back to the church compound and happened upon Pastor G, who had just told Kim about an old building he’d be willing to let me use for the preschool, if I get it going. Kim thought it was this sorry looking thing—a small shack with two green doors and a tilted foundation. But we asked Pastor G again and he pointed up the path to another building.
It was amazing!
It’s just a one-room, little thing but there are windows! And a door! And a big yard with a great big shade tree. It would be perfect! I was so excited. I scampered around and Kim and I imagined all the wonderful things we could do with the place. Pastor G is already talking about building a bamboo fence for it. Then I could clean it up. Paint it. Have Daniel build a few play things for the kids… Oh, joy.
It saved my day, got me excited. I saw the need, then I was able to see how the church was willing to help me meet it. Now all I need is a plan, some ideas and some Lopit people to come alongside me and take the vision for themselves.
I’m looking for contacts here in Africa of programs who have done the preschool thing. I hear there is even a book floating around that talks all about how to establish one—from how to set it up to the theory and concepts behind what you need to teach. The one bad things about living out here is that it’s nearly impossible to network properly, with limited electricity, no access to the internet and only a few outside emails. But still! I emailed my friend Whitney from the U of I and she put together a great thing to help me get started. (If you can help, please email me!!!! aclinard@gmail.com)
I can’t wait to see how God is going to work things out. Keep praying!
I think this is going to be a much harder time-filler than I ever imagined.
The school is so unorganized. They have no books. The kids don’t have pencils and notebooks. They have no teachers. There is no standardized testing—they pull from the Kenyan and Ugandan curriculums, if they pull from any curriculum at all. The schoolmaster is always drunk. Today he was tending his cows, not at school. This is a regular occurrence. They don’t have a timetable for classes yet. They’ve been “in session” for nearly two months. We had to pull teeth to see what they needed, had to kick and scream to try to get books to teach from… and eventually just showed up this morning, saw that there were kids in the different classrooms and jumped in and tried to teach. I picked P6 English. Today we tried to establish rules and talked about what respect was. The kids just stared blankly at me. No response. Nothing. Even when I spoke Lopit. It’s going to be a hard go of things!
After I dismissed my class (rather awkwardly), I walked over to the other school buildings. They’re actually not much like buildings. They used to be just shelled out brick things, then some DIGUNA guys came and put tin roofs on. Then the UN came while we were gone and detonated an old bomb that’s been sitting there… forever… and the whole place shook like there was an earthquake and some of the tin roofing came loose. Whoops. They’re coming to detonate another one soon, I hear. Can’t wait for that!
Inside it’s just piles of rocks and old split boards to sit on. No desks. It’s OK, though… no notebooks anyway.
(I’m not trying to whine, just trying to convey the sad reality. This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I have to work hard not to go crazy in the face of Sudanese school.)
The buildings are teeming with children, sort of like an ant farm.
I walk into the first room. Filled with young children. (Many of them preschool age.)
“Tau Teacher nohoi?” (“Where is your teacher?)
“Obe nobo.” (There is none.)
The next. More children.
“Tau Teacher nohoi?”
“Obe nobo.”
And the last. Even more children.
“Tau Teacher nohoi?”
“Obe nobo.”
At least I established that there was a need for teachers. And a preschool teacher, at that.
And after that terrible experience came a wonderful one.
Kimmie and I walked back to the church compound and happened upon Pastor G, who had just told Kim about an old building he’d be willing to let me use for the preschool, if I get it going. Kim thought it was this sorry looking thing—a small shack with two green doors and a tilted foundation. But we asked Pastor G again and he pointed up the path to another building.
It was amazing!
It’s just a one-room, little thing but there are windows! And a door! And a big yard with a great big shade tree. It would be perfect! I was so excited. I scampered around and Kim and I imagined all the wonderful things we could do with the place. Pastor G is already talking about building a bamboo fence for it. Then I could clean it up. Paint it. Have Daniel build a few play things for the kids… Oh, joy.
It saved my day, got me excited. I saw the need, then I was able to see how the church was willing to help me meet it. Now all I need is a plan, some ideas and some Lopit people to come alongside me and take the vision for themselves.
I’m looking for contacts here in Africa of programs who have done the preschool thing. I hear there is even a book floating around that talks all about how to establish one—from how to set it up to the theory and concepts behind what you need to teach. The one bad things about living out here is that it’s nearly impossible to network properly, with limited electricity, no access to the internet and only a few outside emails. But still! I emailed my friend Whitney from the U of I and she put together a great thing to help me get started. (If you can help, please email me!!!! aclinard@gmail.com)
I can’t wait to see how God is going to work things out. Keep praying!
Thank you, Hoofprints!
I put 65K (about 40 miles) on my new bike this weekend. That’s on top of probably 100K I’ve already done this week.
Annika and I took off for a neighboring village—about 20K’s away—on Saturday and stayed the night there with Pastor Clero’s wife, Eunice. This isn’t the same one I went to before; it’s the other direction and apparently the county seat of Lopitland. That in itself is hilarious. It’s nothing more than one little police building, the unremarkable commissioner’s compound and a brick school that must’ve been wonderful back in its day. Now it’s just the brick shells of the buildings with no tin roofs (probably stolen during the war) and a huge waste of space and reminder of how little education is given around here. Anyway, it was funny riding in, because of the immense disappointment. :)
We wanted to check out the road and the villages on the way and encourage Eunice, who is building a new compound there and is trying to teach the women how to make and sell soap for business.
There’s no church there—just a powerful witchdoctor and rainmaker and the like—so Eunice also wants to start introducing the women to the Gospel. There actually is a “pastor” there, Eunice says, but he’s been so ridiculed and so threatened he’s been rendered ineffective. The two Bible students who didn’t show back up at school this year both live in this village, too. So it’s a dark, dark place.
But it was nice to visit. We talked to people on the way there. We were mobbed as we rode into town. (Mobbed by curious people wanting to shake hands, Mom and Dad. Not men with guns.) We hiked up into the villages and people just went crazy with laughter when they heard these white women speaking their language. We found it to be quite close to our local dialect, which bodes well for our plans to spread out in the future. I can happily report that no little children fell backward off their rock perches upon seeing my white face this time around. I’ll call that progress.
We slept outside on grass mats and propped up on our elbows this morning in time to watch a beautiful sunrise over our Lopit mountain range, before we road back to our place for church. We’ve decided our mountains—the Three Sisters—are the most beautiful in the whole of Lopit. We even dared to tell the people in this other village that.
Anyway, a big thanks again to Hoofprints for the bike, because I can see now even more how useful it will be in our outreach ministries. Steve has scrounged up a handful of bikes from containers in Yei and Loki, but each one is not much to see or use—basically old rusted Murrays or Walmart brand stuff that needs lots and lots of work and aren’t made for the harsh roads and rides out here. In fact, I ended up having to take components off Annika’s bike on the way back this morning; they were broken and getting in the way. But we’re thankful for what we have and I hope we can use them eventually in the way Steve dreams of doing. I don’t know how he’s going to get the other girls on the bikes—they’re not much into riding or vigorous exercise in the hot sun and Annika, the kids’ teacher and the only other one who dares ride with me, leaves in a month—but I’ll be trained and ready when he wants me to go!
This is me on the road to the other village. Those are our mountains in the bike ride. That’s Annika’s bike and her bag—proof to my mother that I didn’t travel to another village alone, which I promised her I wouldn’t do anymore. All that ash is from the Lopeeps (my new word for the Lopit people). They burn the mountains and the fields every dry season, again and again. I don’t know why. All I do know is that it’s ugly. And smelly.
Annika and I took off for a neighboring village—about 20K’s away—on Saturday and stayed the night there with Pastor Clero’s wife, Eunice. This isn’t the same one I went to before; it’s the other direction and apparently the county seat of Lopitland. That in itself is hilarious. It’s nothing more than one little police building, the unremarkable commissioner’s compound and a brick school that must’ve been wonderful back in its day. Now it’s just the brick shells of the buildings with no tin roofs (probably stolen during the war) and a huge waste of space and reminder of how little education is given around here. Anyway, it was funny riding in, because of the immense disappointment. :)
We wanted to check out the road and the villages on the way and encourage Eunice, who is building a new compound there and is trying to teach the women how to make and sell soap for business.
There’s no church there—just a powerful witchdoctor and rainmaker and the like—so Eunice also wants to start introducing the women to the Gospel. There actually is a “pastor” there, Eunice says, but he’s been so ridiculed and so threatened he’s been rendered ineffective. The two Bible students who didn’t show back up at school this year both live in this village, too. So it’s a dark, dark place.
But it was nice to visit. We talked to people on the way there. We were mobbed as we rode into town. (Mobbed by curious people wanting to shake hands, Mom and Dad. Not men with guns.) We hiked up into the villages and people just went crazy with laughter when they heard these white women speaking their language. We found it to be quite close to our local dialect, which bodes well for our plans to spread out in the future. I can happily report that no little children fell backward off their rock perches upon seeing my white face this time around. I’ll call that progress.
We slept outside on grass mats and propped up on our elbows this morning in time to watch a beautiful sunrise over our Lopit mountain range, before we road back to our place for church. We’ve decided our mountains—the Three Sisters—are the most beautiful in the whole of Lopit. We even dared to tell the people in this other village that.
Anyway, a big thanks again to Hoofprints for the bike, because I can see now even more how useful it will be in our outreach ministries. Steve has scrounged up a handful of bikes from containers in Yei and Loki, but each one is not much to see or use—basically old rusted Murrays or Walmart brand stuff that needs lots and lots of work and aren’t made for the harsh roads and rides out here. In fact, I ended up having to take components off Annika’s bike on the way back this morning; they were broken and getting in the way. But we’re thankful for what we have and I hope we can use them eventually in the way Steve dreams of doing. I don’t know how he’s going to get the other girls on the bikes—they’re not much into riding or vigorous exercise in the hot sun and Annika, the kids’ teacher and the only other one who dares ride with me, leaves in a month—but I’ll be trained and ready when he wants me to go!
This is me on the road to the other village. Those are our mountains in the bike ride. That’s Annika’s bike and her bag—proof to my mother that I didn’t travel to another village alone, which I promised her I wouldn’t do anymore. All that ash is from the Lopeeps (my new word for the Lopit people). They burn the mountains and the fields every dry season, again and again. I don’t know why. All I do know is that it’s ugly. And smelly.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Our boy friends are back (or in the mail)…
Good news!
The fellas are coming back today, Lord willing. They should be here in a few hours, if all goes well. Yay!
We’re trying to prepare for our welcoming party. And by that I mean, we’re trying to constantly remind ourselves to be markedly excited about the guys being here and not just our stuff. :)
In other (hilarious) news, us girls have been sitting on our team leaders’ porch all day (see previous comment about trying to conceal excitement about our stuff coming) and, quite naturally, our conversation has turned to trying to fight our fate as forever-single female missionaries. Well, Iris rose to the challenge and came swirling out of the house, wielding a Chalcedon Report magazine with… drum roll please… an advertisement for a Reformed Singles Matchmaking program.
(!!!!!!!!!!!)
Does it get any better than that?
Hahahaha.
So, obviously, we had to email them and ask for five applications.
Yes, there are applications.
Golly gee, I hope I get matched with someone great…
:)
The fellas are coming back today, Lord willing. They should be here in a few hours, if all goes well. Yay!
We’re trying to prepare for our welcoming party. And by that I mean, we’re trying to constantly remind ourselves to be markedly excited about the guys being here and not just our stuff. :)
In other (hilarious) news, us girls have been sitting on our team leaders’ porch all day (see previous comment about trying to conceal excitement about our stuff coming) and, quite naturally, our conversation has turned to trying to fight our fate as forever-single female missionaries. Well, Iris rose to the challenge and came swirling out of the house, wielding a Chalcedon Report magazine with… drum roll please… an advertisement for a Reformed Singles Matchmaking program.
(!!!!!!!!!!!)
Does it get any better than that?
Hahahaha.
So, obviously, we had to email them and ask for five applications.
Yes, there are applications.
Golly gee, I hope I get matched with someone great…
:)
Who am I?
(Probably not one for the kiddos.)
I didn’t want to get out of bed today.
Today, I hate this place.
There are moments when I could imagine staying here until I’m 80. But there are days, you see, when I convince myself I could leave here after two years and never look back. Today is one of those days, only worse. Rebelling parts of my mind and heart are trying to convince the whole of each that I could be OK in leaving today.
The people and the culture can get to you.
Last night I came up the mountain in the dark, after I rode a piece with Annika. I heard screaming and yelling ahead and soon met up with our friend Davitica, who was closely trailing our other friends—or maybe I should best say our neighbors—David and his wife.
David had a small, prickly tree branch—big enough to carry some umph, thin enough to have good bend to suit wonderfully for whipping—and was tearing at his wife with it as she alternated between stumbling up the trail, flopping defiantly on the ground and running off into the woods or down the trail.
Davitica informed me that the woman was drunk and insisted on sleeping on the trail or down in the valley. She whispered that it was bad, bad—this beating. And the balu—that was bad, bad, too… though I know her to drink just as heavily as anyone else here in the Hills.
David would whip his wife. She would in turn try to run away or bowl him over. He’d shove her back down to the ground, hard, sometimes smashing her into a rock or giving her a swift blow to the head with the end of the stick or his arm. She’d howl and moan. He’d grasp at her clothes, pulling her—anything to get her up the mountain. Sometimes her dress would come clean off and he’d beat her bare skin with that ugly branch. Davitica told me he would kill her.
I was shaking, at the same time furious and terrified. I demanded to know what he was doing, what she’d done, that he stop. He paid no heed to me, never so much as acknowledging that I was there. I yelled and yelled and then fell into a kind of bewildered shock as Davitica would at the same time tell me to leave it, leave it then echo my words. The wife used me—“Ibeja is watching! Ibeja is watching”—to no avail. Davitica pulled me here and there—there was no passing the spectacle, as the paths are skinny—and commanded me not to cry, not to cry as she took her hands and hurriedly wiped my eyes, just in case I dare shed a tear. She’d point my flashflight here and there, trying to give the battling couple enough light to see the path. I guess she thought the sooner they got home, the sooner it was over.
Eventually I couldn’t stand it—unable to coax him into stopping with words or throw myself between them—and tore up the rest of the path, still shaking and angry. I collapsed on my bedroom floor and cried, wanting to vomit, until poor Kimmie heard and came into to comfort me. Then we just listened on the path, praying and waiting until we heard them coming—still fighting—along the path and to their compound.
There is beating all around us in Lopit—of the children, of the women, sometimes even of the men by the women—but never have I been so helpless in the face of it or so right in the face of it. I had to follow that brawl for nearly twenty minutes, able neither to stop it or look away from it or close my ears to the yelling and the moaning. Who am I to yell and demand a man—of so much more worth in this culture than a woman—stop beating his wife, his property? It’s his right, his duty to keep his wives in line. Who am I to enforce my Western, Christian ways on a couple who knows only this way? Who am I? Apparently no one, not even an audible voice against the culture and the cruelty.
Don’t worry, I did get out of bed and faced this culture again. Little Francis (now known to us as Grasshopper) met me at our gate as we left and gave me his teethy smile. And even as I imagined him beating his wife in the future—for being drunk, for not fetching enough water, for not having dinner ready—I hoped that he would be different, that he would be a Christian…
I didn’t want to get out of bed today.
Today, I hate this place.
There are moments when I could imagine staying here until I’m 80. But there are days, you see, when I convince myself I could leave here after two years and never look back. Today is one of those days, only worse. Rebelling parts of my mind and heart are trying to convince the whole of each that I could be OK in leaving today.
The people and the culture can get to you.
Last night I came up the mountain in the dark, after I rode a piece with Annika. I heard screaming and yelling ahead and soon met up with our friend Davitica, who was closely trailing our other friends—or maybe I should best say our neighbors—David and his wife.
David had a small, prickly tree branch—big enough to carry some umph, thin enough to have good bend to suit wonderfully for whipping—and was tearing at his wife with it as she alternated between stumbling up the trail, flopping defiantly on the ground and running off into the woods or down the trail.
Davitica informed me that the woman was drunk and insisted on sleeping on the trail or down in the valley. She whispered that it was bad, bad—this beating. And the balu—that was bad, bad, too… though I know her to drink just as heavily as anyone else here in the Hills.
David would whip his wife. She would in turn try to run away or bowl him over. He’d shove her back down to the ground, hard, sometimes smashing her into a rock or giving her a swift blow to the head with the end of the stick or his arm. She’d howl and moan. He’d grasp at her clothes, pulling her—anything to get her up the mountain. Sometimes her dress would come clean off and he’d beat her bare skin with that ugly branch. Davitica told me he would kill her.
I was shaking, at the same time furious and terrified. I demanded to know what he was doing, what she’d done, that he stop. He paid no heed to me, never so much as acknowledging that I was there. I yelled and yelled and then fell into a kind of bewildered shock as Davitica would at the same time tell me to leave it, leave it then echo my words. The wife used me—“Ibeja is watching! Ibeja is watching”—to no avail. Davitica pulled me here and there—there was no passing the spectacle, as the paths are skinny—and commanded me not to cry, not to cry as she took her hands and hurriedly wiped my eyes, just in case I dare shed a tear. She’d point my flashflight here and there, trying to give the battling couple enough light to see the path. I guess she thought the sooner they got home, the sooner it was over.
Eventually I couldn’t stand it—unable to coax him into stopping with words or throw myself between them—and tore up the rest of the path, still shaking and angry. I collapsed on my bedroom floor and cried, wanting to vomit, until poor Kimmie heard and came into to comfort me. Then we just listened on the path, praying and waiting until we heard them coming—still fighting—along the path and to their compound.
There is beating all around us in Lopit—of the children, of the women, sometimes even of the men by the women—but never have I been so helpless in the face of it or so right in the face of it. I had to follow that brawl for nearly twenty minutes, able neither to stop it or look away from it or close my ears to the yelling and the moaning. Who am I to yell and demand a man—of so much more worth in this culture than a woman—stop beating his wife, his property? It’s his right, his duty to keep his wives in line. Who am I to enforce my Western, Christian ways on a couple who knows only this way? Who am I? Apparently no one, not even an audible voice against the culture and the cruelty.
Don’t worry, I did get out of bed and faced this culture again. Little Francis (now known to us as Grasshopper) met me at our gate as we left and gave me his teethy smile. And even as I imagined him beating his wife in the future—for being drunk, for not fetching enough water, for not having dinner ready—I hoped that he would be different, that he would be a Christian…
Incomplete
Well, the fellas are still in Kenya. Daniel and Craig are waiting on replacement parts for the UNI-MOG and Martin is… somewhere…. with the fire engine. I tell you, it’s a little weird around here with hardly a team about it—the Kenyan family is waiting on their baby in Kenya still; Heinrich, Doris & Co. remain in Germany; and the boys are it seems forever delayed in Kenya. Blah.
It’s also strange because we’re running on the bare minimum here. All our luggage and supplies are on the back of the broken truck in Loki. Pattie, Kim and I came here with our traveling clothes on our backs and 2kgs of potatoes. The potatoes are gone; the clothes have been washed again and again. The team as a whole (or this depleted part here in the Hills) is out of sugar and our other stores are going. Our Husa stock things (rice, flour, etc.) are full of bugs. In fact, somehow our flour container has moths flying around in it. How weird is that? Really weird.
Don’t think we’re starving. Not at all. It’s just strange, being here with just the four other girls and Stephan & Co.
We were blessed by a visit from Hannah and Kurt again, which was cool. (They’re the ones who brought us cheese long ago.) They came up for tea and stayed for hours. Again, their perspective was invaluable. Again, their words encouraging. I really enjoy them.
Oh, and I ceremoniously tore up our yard the other day, in honor of it being the first day of my life as a farmer. My friend Jesse sent me back with some amazing Pioneer corn seed (it’s not illegal to bring seed to Sudan) and Jen ever-so-kindly shared her other types of seeds with me. I have high hopes of growing a garden fit for a king. Actually, I just have high hopes for having fresh vegetables more than once every six weeks. So pray for my gardening!
Aaaaand pray as I struggle to begin my formal ministry, whatever that will be. I’m setting up meetings now with Pastor G; I met with the headmaster today to talk about teaching and I’m waiting on this guy Mark to get back so we can talk about the preschool. Heinrich shares my vision for the Lopit printing press, so I pray that will actually happen once he gets back.
Well, that’s really all I’ve got. Just pray for the truck, getting it fixed and getting things back here safely. Pray also for our team as we begin a new unit (hopefully soon) and another long stretch here.
It’s also strange because we’re running on the bare minimum here. All our luggage and supplies are on the back of the broken truck in Loki. Pattie, Kim and I came here with our traveling clothes on our backs and 2kgs of potatoes. The potatoes are gone; the clothes have been washed again and again. The team as a whole (or this depleted part here in the Hills) is out of sugar and our other stores are going. Our Husa stock things (rice, flour, etc.) are full of bugs. In fact, somehow our flour container has moths flying around in it. How weird is that? Really weird.
Don’t think we’re starving. Not at all. It’s just strange, being here with just the four other girls and Stephan & Co.
We were blessed by a visit from Hannah and Kurt again, which was cool. (They’re the ones who brought us cheese long ago.) They came up for tea and stayed for hours. Again, their perspective was invaluable. Again, their words encouraging. I really enjoy them.
Oh, and I ceremoniously tore up our yard the other day, in honor of it being the first day of my life as a farmer. My friend Jesse sent me back with some amazing Pioneer corn seed (it’s not illegal to bring seed to Sudan) and Jen ever-so-kindly shared her other types of seeds with me. I have high hopes of growing a garden fit for a king. Actually, I just have high hopes for having fresh vegetables more than once every six weeks. So pray for my gardening!
Aaaaand pray as I struggle to begin my formal ministry, whatever that will be. I’m setting up meetings now with Pastor G; I met with the headmaster today to talk about teaching and I’m waiting on this guy Mark to get back so we can talk about the preschool. Heinrich shares my vision for the Lopit printing press, so I pray that will actually happen once he gets back.
Well, that’s really all I’ve got. Just pray for the truck, getting it fixed and getting things back here safely. Pray also for our team as we begin a new unit (hopefully soon) and another long stretch here.
Sad times
I went over to Sohot this morning, upon hearing that they’d been broken into while we were gone.
Two days before we left, Jen’s key went missing. While frustrating, this wasn’t so extraordinary, as she’s already lost the key once or twice (or more?). Poor Cath (and her seemingly inexhaustible patience with her young roommate ;) ) searched up and down the villages but found nothing and had to resign to leaving Lopit with the key still at large. She put a padlock on the door, though, and felt that would stay any intruders.
But, as the story goes, Jen didn’t lose the key. Some boys stole the key while she wasn’t looking, then used it to open the door while we were gone. The little padlock Cath put on the door didn’t do much good; it slid right through the hole if you wiggled it just right.
Anyway, the boys rummaged the house and stole all the candy and all the pens. Those are typical little kid targets. Both Longija and Sohot have been broken into before (on less obnoxious, professional terms, however) and had their sweets taken. Actually, on Christmas, the kids took and ate a pie straight out of Jen’s oven. I will admit to finding that hilarious. Hehe. Sorry.
Ahem.
But this time isn’t so funny, as they also stole the girls’ boots (two nice pair), the sheets of Cath’s bed (brought special from home) and some other things. Worst of all, they fiddled with Jen’s solar panel stuff and may have broken it. That’s hundreds of dollars right there.
The girls seem much more calm than I would be. Our friend Deborah spared them the shock of finding their house a mess; she was checking on the place and the cats while they were gone, so she had a key and had everything swept, clean and fairly put back together when they got home.
Everyone knows who the boys are. As far as I can gather, one or more is still on the run—reported to be in some neighboring villages. Another, however, was caught and is being held (tied up?!?) at the witchdoctors house. Gulp. The thing about stealing in Lopit is, it’s a very stupid idea. They’ll probably be beaten really badly or worse. We’ll see how this all plays out.
We think Pastor Saba might have some of the stuff at his place, having recovered it, so we can hope for the best with that, though the solar panels would be nearly irreplaceable.
So pray for how this all goes down. And pray against discouragement in the girls.
In other, more exciting news, we got an ugly cat today. I say ugly because I’m a realist, not because I’m cruel. I’m sure I will come to love it, as it’s kittenness affords it some cuteness and I’ve already seen mice/rats scurrying around our house, so it’s pest-killing abilities will win the cat some favor. It’s sleeping now, and that’s also cute.
It’s name is Tiji (“teegee”—though that “t” is more like a g or a soft strange noise unrecognizable to our English tongues). That means, “Like this.” The people said it all the time when we first got here, mostly when we were doing laundry. We thought it was the word for scrubbing clothes. They’d hold the clothes up as they scrubbed and say “tiji tiji” again and again. Turns out, they were really just telling us we were scrubbing wrong. It’s become one of our favorite words to say. And now it’s our (ugly) cat.
Two days before we left, Jen’s key went missing. While frustrating, this wasn’t so extraordinary, as she’s already lost the key once or twice (or more?). Poor Cath (and her seemingly inexhaustible patience with her young roommate ;) ) searched up and down the villages but found nothing and had to resign to leaving Lopit with the key still at large. She put a padlock on the door, though, and felt that would stay any intruders.
But, as the story goes, Jen didn’t lose the key. Some boys stole the key while she wasn’t looking, then used it to open the door while we were gone. The little padlock Cath put on the door didn’t do much good; it slid right through the hole if you wiggled it just right.
Anyway, the boys rummaged the house and stole all the candy and all the pens. Those are typical little kid targets. Both Longija and Sohot have been broken into before (on less obnoxious, professional terms, however) and had their sweets taken. Actually, on Christmas, the kids took and ate a pie straight out of Jen’s oven. I will admit to finding that hilarious. Hehe. Sorry.
Ahem.
But this time isn’t so funny, as they also stole the girls’ boots (two nice pair), the sheets of Cath’s bed (brought special from home) and some other things. Worst of all, they fiddled with Jen’s solar panel stuff and may have broken it. That’s hundreds of dollars right there.
The girls seem much more calm than I would be. Our friend Deborah spared them the shock of finding their house a mess; she was checking on the place and the cats while they were gone, so she had a key and had everything swept, clean and fairly put back together when they got home.
Everyone knows who the boys are. As far as I can gather, one or more is still on the run—reported to be in some neighboring villages. Another, however, was caught and is being held (tied up?!?) at the witchdoctors house. Gulp. The thing about stealing in Lopit is, it’s a very stupid idea. They’ll probably be beaten really badly or worse. We’ll see how this all plays out.
We think Pastor Saba might have some of the stuff at his place, having recovered it, so we can hope for the best with that, though the solar panels would be nearly irreplaceable.
So pray for how this all goes down. And pray against discouragement in the girls.
In other, more exciting news, we got an ugly cat today. I say ugly because I’m a realist, not because I’m cruel. I’m sure I will come to love it, as it’s kittenness affords it some cuteness and I’ve already seen mice/rats scurrying around our house, so it’s pest-killing abilities will win the cat some favor. It’s sleeping now, and that’s also cute.
It’s name is Tiji (“teegee”—though that “t” is more like a g or a soft strange noise unrecognizable to our English tongues). That means, “Like this.” The people said it all the time when we first got here, mostly when we were doing laundry. We thought it was the word for scrubbing clothes. They’d hold the clothes up as they scrubbed and say “tiji tiji” again and again. Turns out, they were really just telling us we were scrubbing wrong. It’s become one of our favorite words to say. And now it’s our (ugly) cat.
Whoops
I guess this is why there are AIM rules against night driving. I have no idea whose car this is, but the poor guy probably did his car in with a little too much balu and not enough attention to the roads. Forgive me for never putting up a proper picture of the roads around our place—you probably wouldn’t even recognize them as roads anyway. These huge craters and drop offs are quite common. Pattie drove the LandCruiser again today—we’re short drivers, with Martin still waiting on the fire engine, Daniel manning the ‘MOG and Craig a necessary co-driver—and did a superb job working the holes and water traps. Way to go, Pattie Chapati.
Cleaning House
This is a few of the kids and I, cleaning the thick, thick layer of dirt and grime off every reachable inch of my room. The place was completely trashed… completely.
Bittersweet Homecoming
We’d been waiting so long to get home, so when we saw the outline of those three mountain peeks—the Three Sisters—we were more than excited. And the first people we saw were so showered with “Mong!!!”s and “Itigolo!!!”s, I’m surprised they didn’t drown.
Rolling into town was just as wonderful, as a crowd of people—fresh from discussing what could have possibly happened to the white people—met us at Steve’s house with smiles and handshakes. We split as soon as possible, eager to hike the mountain and be back home in Husa. We talked on the way up about how big the kids probably got, if our houses would still be standing and if Lodina’s baby—expected while we were gone—would be a girl or a boy.
As we got closer, we could hear the murmur hit the village and start to swell into a weak thunder. Then the calls came—“Efonu!!!” (“They’re coming!!!”) “Awong Ibeja! Awong Oudo! Efonu dang!” (“Ibeja comes! Kim comes! They’re all coming!”) I’ve always laughed at the conversations the Lopit have across the spots on the mountain; I love it the most, though, when we’re the subject of or participants in said long-distance yell fests.
The kids flooded our compound. Franco flashed me his shy smile. Paula bounced over with little Ellen. And just as I was scanning the crowd for him, sweet Francis called my name, tugged at my arm and awkwardly yet gladly embraced in a hug. (Hugging isn’t something the Lopit do; they have no idea what it is.) It was so good to see them.
The excitement was tempered suddenly, though, when a woman pulled me aside, pointed to Lodina’s compound and said the baby died. Heart-breaking. This one was mine to name—they’ve told me for months. It was a little boy. He lived for seven days and then died, five days ago. He wouldn’t take food.
The locals say it’s a curse. This is the third baby Lodina has had die like this. The two that have survived were born during the war, in Uganda. Now William (Lopit neighbor) says she’ll be sent away again when she gets pregnant, because there is “no benefit to her being here.” Thank goodness, though, they’ll let her come back when she’s had the baby. But how sad, to have to be sent away. And how terrible to lose a sweet baby boy. I wish we were here to bear the pain with her.
We sat with Lodina for a while, but finally had to break away to get settled in the house. It was an absolute mess, from top to bottom. But the kids were up to the challenge—they fought for brooms and sponges and helped us clean everything. They’re sweet, but I wouldn’t have you think it’s all charity—they assume they’ll get candy (not an unwise assumption) and being allowed in the house is a big deal, especially when they’re given so much time to stare at all the weird white people things. : )
So, yes, we’re back… and happy to be here, albeit completely exhausted. You’ll be happy to know God was in our delay. (Duh.) We found out today that our original travel plans would have put us smack dab in the middle of attacks on the road. And this latest delay with the UNI-MOG (still in Loki being fixed) was a blessing because there was a bit of a shake down at the border place and the whole thing is a mess. So, if the fellas would have tried to come through with it today, they likely would have been given a huge hassle or told to return to Loki and wait anyway. So, praise God for all that. Praise Him for protection and for his perfect timing. And praise Him for these people, that we may come back to them and minister among them.
Rolling into town was just as wonderful, as a crowd of people—fresh from discussing what could have possibly happened to the white people—met us at Steve’s house with smiles and handshakes. We split as soon as possible, eager to hike the mountain and be back home in Husa. We talked on the way up about how big the kids probably got, if our houses would still be standing and if Lodina’s baby—expected while we were gone—would be a girl or a boy.
As we got closer, we could hear the murmur hit the village and start to swell into a weak thunder. Then the calls came—“Efonu!!!” (“They’re coming!!!”) “Awong Ibeja! Awong Oudo! Efonu dang!” (“Ibeja comes! Kim comes! They’re all coming!”) I’ve always laughed at the conversations the Lopit have across the spots on the mountain; I love it the most, though, when we’re the subject of or participants in said long-distance yell fests.
The kids flooded our compound. Franco flashed me his shy smile. Paula bounced over with little Ellen. And just as I was scanning the crowd for him, sweet Francis called my name, tugged at my arm and awkwardly yet gladly embraced in a hug. (Hugging isn’t something the Lopit do; they have no idea what it is.) It was so good to see them.
The excitement was tempered suddenly, though, when a woman pulled me aside, pointed to Lodina’s compound and said the baby died. Heart-breaking. This one was mine to name—they’ve told me for months. It was a little boy. He lived for seven days and then died, five days ago. He wouldn’t take food.
The locals say it’s a curse. This is the third baby Lodina has had die like this. The two that have survived were born during the war, in Uganda. Now William (Lopit neighbor) says she’ll be sent away again when she gets pregnant, because there is “no benefit to her being here.” Thank goodness, though, they’ll let her come back when she’s had the baby. But how sad, to have to be sent away. And how terrible to lose a sweet baby boy. I wish we were here to bear the pain with her.
We sat with Lodina for a while, but finally had to break away to get settled in the house. It was an absolute mess, from top to bottom. But the kids were up to the challenge—they fought for brooms and sponges and helped us clean everything. They’re sweet, but I wouldn’t have you think it’s all charity—they assume they’ll get candy (not an unwise assumption) and being allowed in the house is a big deal, especially when they’re given so much time to stare at all the weird white people things. : )
So, yes, we’re back… and happy to be here, albeit completely exhausted. You’ll be happy to know God was in our delay. (Duh.) We found out today that our original travel plans would have put us smack dab in the middle of attacks on the road. And this latest delay with the UNI-MOG (still in Loki being fixed) was a blessing because there was a bit of a shake down at the border place and the whole thing is a mess. So, if the fellas would have tried to come through with it today, they likely would have been given a huge hassle or told to return to Loki and wait anyway. So, praise God for all that. Praise Him for protection and for his perfect timing. And praise Him for these people, that we may come back to them and minister among them.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Update
It's Thursday afternoon here.
Daniel has been under the 'MOG for a while and informs me he's taken out the broken part and ordered a new one from Nairobi. It will, Lord willing, come tomorrow on a plane with one of the DIGUNA guys.
Sigh. So at least another day here, if not two. I'm sure God has got some reason for all this. Maybe I'll ask him someday.
Please pray for the team, as we continue on in close quarters and at high stress levels. No one has killed anyone yet, but money is starting to grow tight (it's expensive to be out of the bush) and we only have a couple changes of clothes. I know, we're really roughing it, right?
Oh, and Craig just informed me the diff-lock on the LandCruiser is busted and will also need to be tended to before we leave. Hahaha. This really is a botched trip!
Keep praying!
AND! My dad says my blog about my bike made it sound like my BIKE was mangled, not the bike BOX. The bike is fine. I actually put it together and rode it around DIGUNA for a while. In flipflops, though (they're all I have), so all I could think in my head the entire time was my father's voice from childhood, telling me how bad that is and telling me the story about how my Uncle Bill almost lost his toes doing that... Funny how things like that still haunt you across many years and oceans. ;)
Anyway, the bike is fine. Just needs a little tweaking and breaking in. The stuff I'd packed with the bike to keep in place, however, was lost. The much-anticipated denim jumpers (perfect Lopitland clothes) I searched for so long in the States and the pajama and workout pants I was so excited about getting from home. *sigh* That's just life, I guess!
OK, I'm out. It's hot and I need to find a piece of shade I can lay motionless in.
Daniel has been under the 'MOG for a while and informs me he's taken out the broken part and ordered a new one from Nairobi. It will, Lord willing, come tomorrow on a plane with one of the DIGUNA guys.
Sigh. So at least another day here, if not two. I'm sure God has got some reason for all this. Maybe I'll ask him someday.
Please pray for the team, as we continue on in close quarters and at high stress levels. No one has killed anyone yet, but money is starting to grow tight (it's expensive to be out of the bush) and we only have a couple changes of clothes. I know, we're really roughing it, right?
Oh, and Craig just informed me the diff-lock on the LandCruiser is busted and will also need to be tended to before we leave. Hahaha. This really is a botched trip!
Keep praying!
AND! My dad says my blog about my bike made it sound like my BIKE was mangled, not the bike BOX. The bike is fine. I actually put it together and rode it around DIGUNA for a while. In flipflops, though (they're all I have), so all I could think in my head the entire time was my father's voice from childhood, telling me how bad that is and telling me the story about how my Uncle Bill almost lost his toes doing that... Funny how things like that still haunt you across many years and oceans. ;)
Anyway, the bike is fine. Just needs a little tweaking and breaking in. The stuff I'd packed with the bike to keep in place, however, was lost. The much-anticipated denim jumpers (perfect Lopitland clothes) I searched for so long in the States and the pajama and workout pants I was so excited about getting from home. *sigh* That's just life, I guess!
OK, I'm out. It's hot and I need to find a piece of shade I can lay motionless in.
Toromile. ("Car.")The girls, enjoying a coke (and each other) in the LandCruiser. Notice I'm wearing longsleeves. It's part of an on-going mental battle I've waged against reality. I wear warm clothes and try to convince myself it's not that hot, so when it is really, really hot I'm more comfortable. I'll let you know when I have conclusive evidence for whether it works or not.
Gas. ("Gas.") Filling up this machine takes about forever, especially when Daniel has to fill up the extra drums for back home. It's pretty hardcore. I informed him Americans would probably not go for him climbing like a money on their gas pumps. He informed me the same would be true of Germans. God bless Africa.
Akafini Oudo nang. ("Oudo--Kim--carries me.")Kim and I decided it'd be best if I rode on the bonnet from now on. Apparently, "bonnet" is European for "hood." They also "hoot" with their "hooter," as opposed to "honking" with their "horn." I love the "No Hooting!" signs. Anyway, Mama Pattie killed our riding-on-the-bonnet idea right as we developed it to this point, so I guess I'll be riding inside. (Or on the roof rack, if we can distract her so she doesn't realize it.) Kim also plans to drive... with such a nonchalant approach as her face here reflects.
We really need to get back to Lopit before we go crazy.
Hifiong erribo. (Literally... "Water fight.")Who can resist a water fight in the heat of Africa after so many hours of dirt in your face in a LandCruiser? Not Cath and I. The wonderful thing was we came out of the mountains and into the desert, so it didn't take long to dry off. Notice the random men in the background enjoying the weird white women.
Die Jen und die Annika.
Far from the splashes, Jen and Annika found a relaxing spot of their own. That is, until Daniel and Craig came along in the UNI-MOG and made waves.
by gorge!
Oyiri iyohoi. ("We rest.")After many, many hours on the road, we girls found a beautiful gorge to stop and rest in. This is Annika and I, dipping our feet in.
Ofonya iyohoi itai. ("We greet ya'll.")Isn't it beautiful?
Adaha nang ("I'm eating.")
I figured since I'm stuck in Loki, I should use my time and the (free, albeit rickedy) internet at this "restaurant" to send some pictures along.
This is Kim and I, in the new, kitted-out LandCruiser, enjoying some corn we bought from roadside fellas who chase down the cars. I'd say we're REALLY enjoying that corn.
A big, big deal...
MY PARENTS ARE COMING IN AUGUST!!!
:)
Yaaaaaaay.
My mom informed me today that she got her second round of shots, and she was talking about it without disclaimers or constant "if I come"s, so I feel that seals the deal.
If you see my mom, give her a big hug. The last thing she wants to do is to come to dirty, hot Africa. :)
:)
Yaaaaaaay.
My mom informed me today that she got her second round of shots, and she was talking about it without disclaimers or constant "if I come"s, so I feel that seals the deal.
If you see my mom, give her a big hug. The last thing she wants to do is to come to dirty, hot Africa. :)
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Heading back to Sudan
(Sunday)
Today at the second-hand market, I was pick-pocketed.
But, it’s OK, I caught the guy.
Kim and I chased him down. She jumped on his back while I tripped him. It was a wonderful show.
Or at least it would have been, were any of that true. Well, alright, the bit about being pick-pocketed is true. The rest is the scenario that Kim and I decided upon just earlier in the afternoon—what we would do if someone stole our purse. Kim said she’d chase him and jump on his back. I decided I’d do the same, only I’d trip him at the end.
Of course, when the real situation came upon, I was rather polite in my handling of the caper. It was more like, “Excuse me, what are you doing? Do you think I’m stupid?” as I pulled away the sweatshirt he’d throw over my bag as a cover for his hand diving in. He simply laid my cell phone down on the crate table in front of us and slithered away. I gave a few half-hearted “theif!”s after him. Half-hearted because I was taught if you’re going to do that in the Africa culture, you have to accept the fact that said thief could be mobbed and killed right there because of your accusations. So, yeah, I wasn’t feeling so much like witnessing a murder—it’s been a long week—so I just stared, dumbfounded, as he scampered off.
At least this sweet bag Ang gave me for Christmas has a flap and a zipper—pure anti-pick-pocket genius.
So, anyway, another day in Nairobi town, another day waiting for our LandCruiser to be fixed up and this fire engine to come off a ship in Mombassa. The fire engine (no longer equipped with hoses and men in uniform) was given to us as a team car and shipped from Germany. It was supposed to come off the ship nearly two weeks ago, but has been held up since then… and has been holding us up in return. Keep praying they can get the thing off soon so we can be on our way!
(Monday)
We’re finally leaving Nairobi—praise the Lord!
The fellas in the UNI-MOG and us (six chicks in the LandCruiser) are off for Eldoret Missionary College—the end of our first leg of our back-to-Sudan journey and current home to Joshua and Justina & Co., our Kenyan teammates expecting a baby very soon.
OH! I should say! Heinrich and Doris emailed from Germany. They are now four! Little Phillip came just the other day—the newest member to our team. So praise God that both Mom and baby boy are doing fine, and for our team getting even bigger! They’ll be back with us come May. We miss them dearly.
(Tuesday)
So these new, front-facing seats in the LandCruiser are cool and all, but I’ve found a downside. You can see forward.
Looking over the driver’s shoulder is sort of like a wide-screen horror movie. But, unfortunately, a horror movie you’re rather involved in and affected by… yet have no influence over.
You know how when you go bowling and the ball is scooting into the gutter or sliding right through the middle of a split, and you sort of wiggle a little bit, or wave your arms, all in the hope of somehow willing the ball to redirect its path? That’s a little what it’s like being in the back seat of this LandCruiser right now.
We have a new driver, see, and she’s no so used to the vehicle and doesn’t seem to have a splendid grasp of just where the wheels are. But, poor lady, it was a hard, frustrating drive. And praise God we survived it.
Now we’re in Lodwar, somewhere in the Kenyan desert. It’s hot, so I’m dripping, and all I want is a shower.
(Wednesday)
I think this might go down as the trip that just wouldn’t end.
We made it to Loki this morning. Unfortunately, Daniel lost the clutch in the UNI-MOG somewhere along the way. So now we’re here in the middle of what amounts to little more than an airstrip, uncertain of what exactly we’ll do from here.
I think poor Daniel has a night of work before him—another addition to his many frustrations—and we’re all back in the waiting game.
So please pray for the car situation and for our patience with said situation and with each other. We’ve been stuffed together way too long and are at times at each others’ throats.
Oh, and still no news on that fire engine on the coast.
I can’t wait to get home…
Today at the second-hand market, I was pick-pocketed.
But, it’s OK, I caught the guy.
Kim and I chased him down. She jumped on his back while I tripped him. It was a wonderful show.
Or at least it would have been, were any of that true. Well, alright, the bit about being pick-pocketed is true. The rest is the scenario that Kim and I decided upon just earlier in the afternoon—what we would do if someone stole our purse. Kim said she’d chase him and jump on his back. I decided I’d do the same, only I’d trip him at the end.
Of course, when the real situation came upon, I was rather polite in my handling of the caper. It was more like, “Excuse me, what are you doing? Do you think I’m stupid?” as I pulled away the sweatshirt he’d throw over my bag as a cover for his hand diving in. He simply laid my cell phone down on the crate table in front of us and slithered away. I gave a few half-hearted “theif!”s after him. Half-hearted because I was taught if you’re going to do that in the Africa culture, you have to accept the fact that said thief could be mobbed and killed right there because of your accusations. So, yeah, I wasn’t feeling so much like witnessing a murder—it’s been a long week—so I just stared, dumbfounded, as he scampered off.
At least this sweet bag Ang gave me for Christmas has a flap and a zipper—pure anti-pick-pocket genius.
So, anyway, another day in Nairobi town, another day waiting for our LandCruiser to be fixed up and this fire engine to come off a ship in Mombassa. The fire engine (no longer equipped with hoses and men in uniform) was given to us as a team car and shipped from Germany. It was supposed to come off the ship nearly two weeks ago, but has been held up since then… and has been holding us up in return. Keep praying they can get the thing off soon so we can be on our way!
(Monday)
We’re finally leaving Nairobi—praise the Lord!
The fellas in the UNI-MOG and us (six chicks in the LandCruiser) are off for Eldoret Missionary College—the end of our first leg of our back-to-Sudan journey and current home to Joshua and Justina & Co., our Kenyan teammates expecting a baby very soon.
OH! I should say! Heinrich and Doris emailed from Germany. They are now four! Little Phillip came just the other day—the newest member to our team. So praise God that both Mom and baby boy are doing fine, and for our team getting even bigger! They’ll be back with us come May. We miss them dearly.
(Tuesday)
So these new, front-facing seats in the LandCruiser are cool and all, but I’ve found a downside. You can see forward.
Looking over the driver’s shoulder is sort of like a wide-screen horror movie. But, unfortunately, a horror movie you’re rather involved in and affected by… yet have no influence over.
You know how when you go bowling and the ball is scooting into the gutter or sliding right through the middle of a split, and you sort of wiggle a little bit, or wave your arms, all in the hope of somehow willing the ball to redirect its path? That’s a little what it’s like being in the back seat of this LandCruiser right now.
We have a new driver, see, and she’s no so used to the vehicle and doesn’t seem to have a splendid grasp of just where the wheels are. But, poor lady, it was a hard, frustrating drive. And praise God we survived it.
Now we’re in Lodwar, somewhere in the Kenyan desert. It’s hot, so I’m dripping, and all I want is a shower.
(Wednesday)
I think this might go down as the trip that just wouldn’t end.
We made it to Loki this morning. Unfortunately, Daniel lost the clutch in the UNI-MOG somewhere along the way. So now we’re here in the middle of what amounts to little more than an airstrip, uncertain of what exactly we’ll do from here.
I think poor Daniel has a night of work before him—another addition to his many frustrations—and we’re all back in the waiting game.
So please pray for the car situation and for our patience with said situation and with each other. We’ve been stuffed together way too long and are at times at each others’ throats.
Oh, and still no news on that fire engine on the coast.
I can’t wait to get home…
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Back in Nairobi
Just now in Nakumatt (big Walmart-esque place) I saw drinkable jelly. Yes, drinkable jelly. Ala drinkable yogurt, I suppose. My reaction to said drinkable jelly was stronger than to cooked rat.
But, really, that's not important at all.
In other, more relevant news, here we are, safe in Nairobi. I had a happy reunion with my teammates—especially my roommates—but, unfortunately, I wasn't reunited with all the luggage I left Chicago with.
Hoofprints for Christ gave me a wonderful gift for Christmas, and I told them I'd buy a bike with it to travel between villages. Well, I bought the bike, laboriously packed it in a box and had to watch as it came around the conveyor belt, mangled.
But that's the way it goes in Africa.
Now we're stuck in Nairobi, waiting on some things to be done with our automobiles. It's hard to keep things going for 23—soon to be 25—people. Good ol' Steve pulled some captains chairs and a bench out of some old cars and had them put in our ancient LandCruiser. He's talked about it for a while, but I suppose his final motivation may have come on the way here. It used to have two long benches down the sides, and Jen was laying on one. Well, Martin hit a bump and she went flying up, nearly touched the ceiling and then crashed back down to the floor of the thing all floppy-like. I'd say it was one of the most terrifying moments of our time here, seeing her lying there, eyes glazed over, as we yelled at Martin to stop the car… in the middle-of-nowhere, Sudan. Praise God, she was only unconscious for a while and survived only with a headache and big bump—a far cry from the broken neck both Kim and I were certain she had, as our minds raced in those first few seconds when it happened. Anyway, we all wore our (albeit terribly uncomfortable and makeshift) seatbelts from then on and went with no further accident. Well, accept that one time when I had unbuckled for some silly reason for a moment and later found myself face-first in Jen's lap. We have some good times here in Africa.
I suppose none of that is all that important, but now you know. We're just hanging out and trying to keep on top of business and language and we fight all that is African culture for getting things done. It looks like we'll head back Saturday at the earliest, so please be praying that we do get out of here in a reasonable time and have safe travels home.
We're all getting really anxious to get home, pining for our own beds, routine and—of course—our friends in the village. I can't wait to get there and get settled back in until we trek out again for supplies.
Everyone take care—I'll write soon!
But, really, that's not important at all.
In other, more relevant news, here we are, safe in Nairobi. I had a happy reunion with my teammates—especially my roommates—but, unfortunately, I wasn't reunited with all the luggage I left Chicago with.
Hoofprints for Christ gave me a wonderful gift for Christmas, and I told them I'd buy a bike with it to travel between villages. Well, I bought the bike, laboriously packed it in a box and had to watch as it came around the conveyor belt, mangled.
But that's the way it goes in Africa.
Now we're stuck in Nairobi, waiting on some things to be done with our automobiles. It's hard to keep things going for 23—soon to be 25—people. Good ol' Steve pulled some captains chairs and a bench out of some old cars and had them put in our ancient LandCruiser. He's talked about it for a while, but I suppose his final motivation may have come on the way here. It used to have two long benches down the sides, and Jen was laying on one. Well, Martin hit a bump and she went flying up, nearly touched the ceiling and then crashed back down to the floor of the thing all floppy-like. I'd say it was one of the most terrifying moments of our time here, seeing her lying there, eyes glazed over, as we yelled at Martin to stop the car… in the middle-of-nowhere, Sudan. Praise God, she was only unconscious for a while and survived only with a headache and big bump—a far cry from the broken neck both Kim and I were certain she had, as our minds raced in those first few seconds when it happened. Anyway, we all wore our (albeit terribly uncomfortable and makeshift) seatbelts from then on and went with no further accident. Well, accept that one time when I had unbuckled for some silly reason for a moment and later found myself face-first in Jen's lap. We have some good times here in Africa.
I suppose none of that is all that important, but now you know. We're just hanging out and trying to keep on top of business and language and we fight all that is African culture for getting things done. It looks like we'll head back Saturday at the earliest, so please be praying that we do get out of here in a reasonable time and have safe travels home.
We're all getting really anxious to get home, pining for our own beds, routine and—of course—our friends in the village. I can't wait to get there and get settled back in until we trek out again for supplies.
Everyone take care—I'll write soon!
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Long overdue pictures...
Since it's been a while since I've been able to post pictures, I figured I'd take time to do that now, as I wait for my flight. Hope you enjoy.
Mohrika is a good friend of ours -- one of the teens. Sadly, though, she left for school in Uganda just before we left for holiday. She hasn't gone to school before, so we're excited to see her go, yet heartbroken because we really love her. We pooled together some pencils, erasers and clothes for her as a going-away gift. I will gladly say that this dress looks MUCH better on her than it ever did on me. Oh, and about that salute... I dunno, the Lopit do the weirdest thing in pictures. They always look super serious or make like boxers or salute like soldiers. I have no idea where that comes from, but we could hardly get her to put that arm down for a good picture.
You might remember little Pattie from a while back. This is her -- growing like a weed -- with momma Davitika and Auntie Pattie.
The baby flow hasn't stopped, of course. This is our good friend Mary and her baby, Cheri -- named after Kimmie's mom. She's a cutie. I was supposed to name our other friend's baby, but she may have had it while we were gone! I can't wait to see the little one. (And I'm praying that all of our little friends are still there when we get back this time.).jpg)
It's not all about babies. I guess this was a rather funny afternoon. Daniel and his Lopit friend were trying to coax a very stubborn cow up the mountain. I think Dan ended up pushing the thing the entire way there.
Back to babies. This is sweet little Ellen, my favorite baby from my favorite family. I have dreams that she grows up into a strong Christian woman someday. She's adorable and smiles constantly. 
Sometimes even the really adorable ones pee all over you when you're carrying them, though. Ewww.Alright, that's it. Hope this works. Oh, and PLEASE give Mark a HUGE thank you for doing all this blog stuff for me -- without him, I couldn't work this thing at all!
Back in the Game
Hello, hello, hello.
Greetings from Heathrow Airport in London; I'm halfway back from my holiday/medical trip in the States. Wow, what a whirlwind.
I was blessed with a relatively low-key time at home -- I spent time with my family, saw a handful of close friends (including my favorite kids!), caught an Illini game (!!!) and was able to visit both Oglesby Union and Stratford Park, my home churches. I say "relatively" low-key because anyone who knows me knows low-key doesn't come easy, and anyone who knows coming back in the country after 7 months abroad knows everyone wants to spend time with you. So, yes, it actually was really stressful, but I'm hoping it was a good kind of stressful that will still leave me somehow refreshed and ready to head back into the bush.
Coming back to America was interesting. I'd tell people I was on holiday (vacation) and they'd always ask me what particular holiday it was in Kenya that would bring me home. That wasn't the only language blunder -- my poor parents had to endure bits and pieces of Lopit and German.
I had to ease back into things. The first day I gave a go at Target but ended up having to leave, completely overwhelmed. And I found myself constantly walking around the house turning off TVs and lights, concerned that we'd run out of solar power since it was overcast. (My parents run on regular electricity, just like everyone else.) But I finally did adjust to being able to drive 110kpm without fear of destroying my automobile on some dirtroad pothole. Oh, and I adjusted to being able to drive, period, and thinking in mph again, as well. And I was Walmart's biggest customer, I do believe.
Good showers, good food, good friends and all that was nice, but I'm ready to get back to Africa. (And I dare say my parents were very ready to get rid of me.) I found myself missing my team terribly and called Kim three or four pathetic times. I even sat in front of my television one night, watching the Lopit footage I sent back to my friends while I was away. Now that is sad. I miss my little village, my little house and even my little longdrop toilet.
The computer disaster came and went. I got my new one in just a couple days before I left and Tom tried to load it up with good books and programs for me. (Thanks, Thomas!) All the financial stress was calmed, as the folks at OUC and a couple of my friends covered all but $500 of the thing. What a HUGE relief. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Frustratingly, other things kept going wrong. But, conveniently, I was in the States and in a position to fix them. Praise God for his nice timing on that.
Anyway, so here I go, back into Nairobi, then a three-days' journey into Sudan. God worked in my heart while I was gone, and I'm happy -- nay, joyful -- to say I can't wait to get back and work harder, with more focus than before.
I'll do my best to get the blogs a'flowin' again -- I was amazed to know how many people read it at home, so I'll do my best to keep it up. Pray for the satellite situation -- that it would work and we'd have email connection!
Thanks again for everything... God bless!
Greetings from Heathrow Airport in London; I'm halfway back from my holiday/medical trip in the States. Wow, what a whirlwind.
I was blessed with a relatively low-key time at home -- I spent time with my family, saw a handful of close friends (including my favorite kids!), caught an Illini game (!!!) and was able to visit both Oglesby Union and Stratford Park, my home churches. I say "relatively" low-key because anyone who knows me knows low-key doesn't come easy, and anyone who knows coming back in the country after 7 months abroad knows everyone wants to spend time with you. So, yes, it actually was really stressful, but I'm hoping it was a good kind of stressful that will still leave me somehow refreshed and ready to head back into the bush.
Coming back to America was interesting. I'd tell people I was on holiday (vacation) and they'd always ask me what particular holiday it was in Kenya that would bring me home. That wasn't the only language blunder -- my poor parents had to endure bits and pieces of Lopit and German.
I had to ease back into things. The first day I gave a go at Target but ended up having to leave, completely overwhelmed. And I found myself constantly walking around the house turning off TVs and lights, concerned that we'd run out of solar power since it was overcast. (My parents run on regular electricity, just like everyone else.) But I finally did adjust to being able to drive 110kpm without fear of destroying my automobile on some dirtroad pothole. Oh, and I adjusted to being able to drive, period, and thinking in mph again, as well. And I was Walmart's biggest customer, I do believe.
Good showers, good food, good friends and all that was nice, but I'm ready to get back to Africa. (And I dare say my parents were very ready to get rid of me.) I found myself missing my team terribly and called Kim three or four pathetic times. I even sat in front of my television one night, watching the Lopit footage I sent back to my friends while I was away. Now that is sad. I miss my little village, my little house and even my little longdrop toilet.
The computer disaster came and went. I got my new one in just a couple days before I left and Tom tried to load it up with good books and programs for me. (Thanks, Thomas!) All the financial stress was calmed, as the folks at OUC and a couple of my friends covered all but $500 of the thing. What a HUGE relief. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Frustratingly, other things kept going wrong. But, conveniently, I was in the States and in a position to fix them. Praise God for his nice timing on that.
Anyway, so here I go, back into Nairobi, then a three-days' journey into Sudan. God worked in my heart while I was gone, and I'm happy -- nay, joyful -- to say I can't wait to get back and work harder, with more focus than before.
I'll do my best to get the blogs a'flowin' again -- I was amazed to know how many people read it at home, so I'll do my best to keep it up. Pray for the satellite situation -- that it would work and we'd have email connection!
Thanks again for everything... God bless!
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